Savior
by memorysdaughter
Summary: This time when Jade's missing, there are no easy answers. Songfic to "Savior" by Rise Against.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So, this is a little darker than my usual stuff, but I hope you'll enjoy it. And, of course, "Victorious" and its characters aren't mine.

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><p><em>It kills me not to know this<em>

_But I've all but just forgotten_

_What the color of her eyes were_

_And her scars or how she got them_

"Savior," Rising Against

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><p>This time when Jade's missing, no one mentions the janitor's closet. The light's off in there, the door closed, the one remaining trash can blissfully intact.<p>

No one asks Beck. He's got an answer, the same answer as everyone else, but it's the kind of answer that sounds a lot like an excuse.

He corrals Cat outside Sikowitz's classroom. "Any news?" he asks, touching the redhead's shoulder gently.

"She doesn't want to see you," Cat says, her eyes somewhere else.

"Ask again, will you?"

"Maybe," Cat replies, and then she pushes past him, surprisingly strong for a 90-pound unicorn enthusiast.

Lane's been in their classes lately, paying more attention, listening in on conversations and driving everyone crazy. He's been asking the tough questions, but he's also been more of a softy lately, paying special attention to Tori and Cat. Not in a patronizing way – they'd catch onto that in a moment's notice – but generally making himself more available to talk. To listen.

But Tori and Cat aren't talking much, even to each other. There's some sort of dissonance, a disconnect, something that was snapped in them last Thursday and has all the hallmarks of something that will never be repaired. Cat's grumpier, jumpier, quicker to yell out "What's that supposed to mean?" Tori's more focused on her schoolwork than ever before, as though throwing herself into the minutiae of history and geometry will fill her head with thoughts that don't scare her quite as much.

It isn't working. None of it is.

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><p>Beck hears people talking. He's not stupid. He knows that in a school as small and as insular as Hollywood Arts, everyone knows everybody else's business. In addition to talented dancers, singers, artists, and actors, Hollywood Arts produces world-class gossips.<p>

But he's tired of hearing how it was all his fault. It couldn't be all his fault – ever. The fight had taken a disastrous turn, but it was just that – a _fight_. A goddamn fight. And _he_ hadn't fallen to pieces. Don't give him that crap about how guys were stronger than girls. Not when the girl was Jade.

He's sick of the looks, the whispered discussions in the hallway, of Lane following behind him to ask if he's all right, if there's something he'd like to talk about.

No. There's nothing he wants to talk about. In fact, if he never hears another word about this ever again, it will be too soon.

He's tired of being the villain.

He's _not_ the villain.

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><p>In the middle of improv Cat starts crying and can't stop. Sikowitz suddenly looks like somebody's told him love beads went out of fashion forty years ago, and turns helplessly to Tori.<p>

"C'mon, Cat," Tori says, and leads the sobbing girl off the stage, out into the hallway, out onto the parking lot. Somehow she gets Cat to sit, and then she sits next to her, her arm around her crying friend. "It's okay," she says, a bit hesitantly, knowing it's untrue. Things are definitely not okay.

"I want things to be like they _were_," Cat sobs.

"Me too, sweetie. Me too."

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><p>In group therapy, which Jade privately thinks is the biggest waste of her time since call-in game shows on late-night TV, the chirpy therapist challenges the girls to write down words they feel describe others in the group. It's all the two-faced, backstabbing fun of high school with all the trappings of a hospital setting, and Jade refuses to participate.<p>

Jade writes "COWARD" in big black letters on her index cards, and lines them up in front of her on the table. Everywhere she looks that word follows her – _coward, coward, coward_.

She closes her eyes and goes somewhere else, anywhere else, wishing she was deaf to the chirpy therapist's questions: "Who is the coward, Jade?" And she thinks, _Exactly._

_Who is the coward?_

_Jade._

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><p>Reviews are love!<em><br>_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Enjoy.

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><p>They have a routine now, more out of necessity than anything else. After school Cat and Tori meet in the parking lot, get into Tori's car, and drive the thirty-six miles to the Children's Hospital at UCLA. They park in the parking garage and go up to the first floor waiting area.<p>

The first day they were there, they were clueless as to the routine. They had no way to know that the fifth floor didn't always accept visitors. Sometimes the whole floor was on "lock-down," and no visitors would be going up until the crisis was over. It was hard to wait in the cheerful waiting room, with its big statues of Sesame Street characters and the bookshelf full of kids' books and the TV in the corner playing animated films, unsure if they would spend their afternoon and evening waiting for an opening that never arrived. It was all too saccharine for Tori; of course, Cat loved the movies.

After eight days the afternoon receptionist knew them by name, and tried to tell them in advance if they were going to be there for awhile. Sometimes, if they had a long wait ahead of them, they'd go across the street to a skuzzy diner and eat pancakes – because pancakes are comfort food.

Today, day fifteen, the receptionist gives them a tired smile as they come in. "Fifth floor went into lock-down about two hours ago," she says. "Two new patients. Might be awhile. I'll let you know if anything changes."

Cat looks like she's going to burst into tears again, so Tori pulls her over to a quiet seat in the corner. "It's going to be okay," Tori says, that comforting lie that's gotten her through so many conversations with Cat.

"I hate this part," Cat says, keeping her eyes on her shoes.

"Me too."

"She's all alone up there," Cat says.

"I know."

"I wish we were up there."

"I do too. Maybe it'll be a quick wait."

"Yeah, maybe," Cat says, but she sounds unsure.

Tori unzips her backpack and pulls out her geometry workbook. There's no law against doing homework in a hospital waiting room, but she somehow always feels strange doing it. Half the time she finds herself drifting, drawing proofs that don't make any sense. She'd never admit it aloud, but her mind's on Jade – she's come to a sort of understanding about the mean girl. They're all on the same side now, and that's all that matters.

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><p>In the psych ward, it's not uncommon for someone to be crying. Most of the girls cry all the time, but in dignified, <em>girly<em> ways. They sniffle and blot tears from their eyes with the collars of their expensive T-shirts. It's almost worst than showing real emotion.

But this time when the lock-down is announced over the PA system, Jade hears someone _screaming_. Wailing, unquenched, pure and aggressive, with only the briefest pauses in between for breaths. Whoever it is, it's not one of the rich bitches.

Jade stands up – plainly against the rules during lock-down – and leaves the day room. What are they going to do, lock her up? She pushes the door open and looks out into the lobby.

Whatever she was prepared for, it wasn't the sight that met her eyes.

Between the elevators was a purple wheelchair, and in the wheelchair was a dark-haired girl, held in by a series of straps and harnesses. The girl's arms were out to her sides, frozen spastically as she jerked back and forth in her chair, screaming, tears streaming down her face. With each rock the wheelchair's little front wheels come a fraction of an inch off the ground, a pause during which the girl sucks in a new breath and begins screaming again.

There is no one around, which surprises Jade even more than the girl's presence. There's always _someone_ watching you in the psych ward, trying to make sure that no rogue pens or shoelaces snuck past the diligent eyes of the staff.

Jade strides across the lobby and grabs a chair from one of the visitor's areas. She pulls it up next to the girl in the wheelchair and sits down.

She doesn't say anything. There's really nothing to say.

After a moment she brings one hand up and takes the girl's right hand in her left.

Twenty minutes later, the girl has quieted, slurping breaths in through a phlegmy throat. Her jerks in the chair have become less; the wheels are all on the ground. Her face is smeared with tears and sweat and unhappiness.

"Hi," Jade says softly, when she feels there's an opening in the silence. "I'm Jade."

The girl rocks back in her chair and jerks her head to the right, to a switch mounted to her head-rest. There's a clicking sound, but nothing happens.

The girl howls.

"It's okay," Jade says, and then laughs. Startled, the girl looks at her. "Sorry, but that's the biggest lie I've told lately. Things obviously aren't okay if you're here, are they?"

The girl snuffles and clicks the switch again.

Jade turns to face her and realizes there's a cord running out of the switch, a cord that's obviously supposed to be connected to some device, judging from the plug on the end.

The girl jerks her head against the switch.

"Jade," one of the psych techs says. "What are you doing out here?"

"Did somebody take this girl's computer?" Jade asks, holding up the end of the cord.

"That's not really any of your business," the psych tech says.

Jade stands up. She's at least eight inches taller than the psych tech. "Did somebody take this girl's computer? I think she might want to say something."

"When Lily's finished with the intake process, I'm sure they'll…"

Jade cuts her off. "So she just can't speak right now? What kind of bullshit is that?"

"Language warning."

"You took her _voice_ away," Jade barrels on. "That's not fair!"

As if in agreement, the girl clicks the switch again with her head.

"Go back in the day room," the psych tech says, "or face a Consequence."

"I'm not going anywhere until she has her computer back. Don't you see how scared she is? Wouldn't you be scared if you were alone in this hell-hole of a hospital, unable to tell anyone how you felt? Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing here – getting in touch with our _feelings?_ Sharing our _feelings?"_

"I believe your tone is disrespectful to the Program."

"Damn right it is," Jade says. "What kind of a dumbass program is unfair to its weakest members? You're all about us getting better – but I don't understand how you expect us to do that if you stack the deck against us. What utter shit."

"Second language warning."

Jade rolls her eyes. "I'm not afraid of you. You can't scare me."

And she sits back down and takes up the girl's hand again. She's not quite sure when she became somebody's advocate, but she's not going anywhere.

And although she's pretty sure it's just a muscle spasm, the girl's hand closes around Jade's fingers, warm and heavy and _grateful._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you to the reviewer who reminded me about this story. I've been feeling a little out-of-inspiration lately, and writing this short chapter made me feel like I was accomplishing something.

Reviews are love!

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><p>Beck's sitting outside in a lawn chair, looking up at the stars and eating an apple, when Tori comes up the driveway. She's left her car in the road, or maybe she walked the whole way – nothing anyone does lately seems unusual.<p>

Without a word she sits down in the lawn chair next to him, shifts her purse to the driveway, and looks up at the sky.

Beck crunches another bite of his apple.

Tori stares up at the sky, but she's not sure what she's looking for. She feels ridiculous, sitting here, saying nothing. After three hours of sitting in the waiting room at the hospital, the receptionist said they might as well go home; she had no idea when the floor would go off lock-down. Cat burst into tears and Tori had to half-drag her out of the waiting room, and it was only after two more hours of consoling a sobbing Cat that Tori could even bring herself to leave the redhead at her house. And she still hadn't felt comfortable with the decision.

"Did you see her?" Beck asks, tossing his apple core onto the lawn.

"No," Tori says shortly.

"Not for lack of trying, I bet."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You sound like Cat."

"Oh, you mean Jade's best friend? Who I just left, sobbing, at her house?"

"Cut the BS, Tori. Ever since… ever since all this happened, you've been acting like you and Jade are best friends."

"At least I'm still acting like her friend."

"What are you doing here?"

"I have no idea, but it's clear it was a bad idea."

"Damn straight."

Tori stands up, grabs her purse. "You still care, Beck."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Tori says.

"And how can you be so sure, Dr. Phil?"

"You're still wearing your necklace. Every five minutes in class you look at your phone, like you're expecting her to text you. And at lunch, you still show up with two sodas, even though you only drink one."

"So I'm a creature of habit."

"No, Beck, you're still in love with her," Tori says.

"Did you figure out what you're doing here yet?"

"Yeah, I did." Tori looks over at Beck; he's still looking up at the sky. "I wanted to ask you… what happened that night?"

Beck chuckles darkly. "Yeah, like I'm really going to spill my guts to you, spur of the moment. What makes you think you can weasel it out of me if Lane, Sikowitz, my parents, and some psychologist from the Department of Education couldn't?"

"I'm your friend," Tori says.

"We had a fight," Beck says. "We had a fight, and she got mad, and she went home."

"You know, Beck, I think you think that's all that happened. But it's not. And someday, you're going to be ready to tell somebody the truth."

"And you're my friend, so it's going to be you?"

Tori shrugs. "I'm here. I'm ready for Cat to stop crying every five minutes. I'm ready for Lane to quit following us around. I'm ready for all the whispers and lies to stop. And if that means I'm ready to hear the truth, I guess so."

Beck stands up. "I'm going inside. Are you going home?"

"If that's my only option, then I guess so."

"You could sit out here in the dark, but my dad gets up early and turns the sprinklers on. But if you sat in the right place, you could theoretically sit out here forever."

"Beck."

"Tori, I think you came here with noble intentions. But… but I'm not that noble guy anymore."

"Yeah, then who are you?"

On the steps of his RV, the door open and heavy in his hand, Beck says, "I don't know."

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><p><em>Click.<em>

Long pause.

_Click_.

Long pause.

_Click. Click._

Short pause.

_Click._

Jade has to admit, talking to her new friend is like figuring out a message in Morse code. It takes longer than a normal conversation, and it's delicately balanced between clicks and pauses – or dashes and dots. Add in the girl's spastic muscles, her jerking hands and arms, and her sobs and gasps, and it's more of a conversation than Jade's ever had.

_Click_. At last the girl finishes her sentence, and the computer speaks: "Thank you for helping get my computer back."

She tilts her head a little and gives Jade a twitch of her lips.

"You're welcome," Jade says.

_Click_. Pause. _Click_. "My name is Lily."

"Nice to meet you, Lily."

The psych tech comes out from the nurses' station, holding her clipboard as though it grants her some authority. "Jade, it's time for lights-out."

"I'll wait," Jade says.

"Jade, you're very close to getting a Consequence, and I would hate for you to…"

Before the psych tech can finish her sentence, from down the hall there's a scream, followed by a high-pitched voice: "Courtney! Oh my God, Courtney!"

The psych tech suddenly has bigger problems on her hands. She and several other techs, followed by the nurses, run down the hallway.

_Click._ Pause. _Click_. _Click_. "Jade, what did you do to your wrists?" the computer asks.

Jade looks down at her wrists, still wrapped in white gauze bandages. "It doesn't matter," she says quietly.

_Click_. Pause. _Click. _Pause. _Click. Click._ Pause. _Click_. "Forgive me for saying so, but I doubt that's the truth."

Jade chokes out a laugh, sardonic and dry. "You're right. It's not the truth. But if I was good at talking about it, I think they would have let me go by now."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Thank you all for your reviews! I love them! Keep them coming!

The song I've used in this chapter is "Magic" by Ben Folds Five.

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><p>Tori's halfway to Andre's house when her phone rings. "Hello?"<p>

"I'm her boyfriend."

"Excuse me?" Tori asks. Cars rush by on the highway and a dog barks, muffling the voice on the other end of the line.

"You asked me who I am. I'm her boyfriend. I'm… I'm Jade's."

"Took you long enough to figure that out," Tori says, but she doesn't mean to be cruel. Maybe mildly reproving, but never cruel. Cruelty and fear have their place, but she doesn't intend to let them interfere in this situation ever again. Too many people have been hurt.

"I think I'm forgetting… forgetting important things," Beck says. "Like…"

A pause, and Tori hears him sigh. "Like the color of her eyes. The words to that song she used to sing along to on the radio. How many rings she wears."

Tori doesn't say anything.

"I'm forgetting what she smells like. What makes her laugh. Even the taste of those gross vegetable burritos she likes. I'm forgetting it all, and she's only been away for… for a week and a half."

_Been away_. He makes it sound like Jade's on vacation, sunning herself at some coastal resort paradise, instead of a prisoner of a locked ward at a children's hospital.

"And you want to remember?" Tori prods him after a moment of silence.

"I'd give anything to remember."

"What do you want me to do?"

"You don't have to do anything. I just wanted you to know… to know that I'm hers. I've always been hers, ever since I met her. And… I said some things to her that I wish I'd never said. Things I can't take back. I was stupid… I was an idiot."

"I don't think anyone acted like they should have," Tori says.

"It's not an excuse."

"I didn't say it was."

"I wanted to be somebody different for her," Beck says. "Everybody always flakes out on her, runs away from her, treats her like she's scary or too dark. I was supposed to be somebody different."

Cars whoosh by on the street. Tori watches the taillights burn red in her peripheral vision; she blinks hard against tears she wasn't sure she could cry. "We all were, Beck."

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><p>The next morning at school, as Tori stands at her locker, looking for her geometry workbook, Beck comes up to her. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. He doesn't say anything, just slumps in place and waits for her to notice him.<p>

At last she looks up.

"I… I put something on The Slap for her," he says in a low voice. "Next time you see her, could you…?"

"I'll see what I can do," Tori says.

The bell rings and Beck gives her a rueful smile before he heads off to his first class.

It's not until study hall that Tori remembers his request. She flicks her PearPad on under the desk, scrolls through The Slap's options until she finds Beck's page. There's a new video posted there. She surreptitiously puts her earphones in and clicks on the video.

The video takes a moment to process, and then there's Beck, sitting at a piano in the Black Box Theater. The video's time stamp is from very early that morning – three o'clock, in fact. Beck looks haggard and upset. "Jade," he says to the camera, "you have every right to be mad at me, and to never want to see me again. And I know nothing I can say will ever make things right. So I'm not even going to try."

Tori's heart sinks a little. Where was the authoritative, take-charge Beck who could rein in Jade's manic, angry tendencies?

"Instead, I'm just going to sing to you."

And Tori's heart rises a bit.

It's a song she's heard before, not one that she would classify as a favorite, but only from lack of hearing it. It's beautiful, simple, and honest.

"_From the back of your big brown eyes / I knew you'd be gone as soon as you could / And I hoped you would…"_ Beck's fingers dance over the keys. "_We could see that you weren't yourself / And the lines on your face did tell / It's just as well you'd never be yourself again."_

A tear slides down Tori's face and she wipes it away. She's cried far too often lately.

"_Saw you last night / Dance by the light of the moon / Stars in your eyes / Free from the life that you knew."_ Beck shifts on the bench. "_You're the magic that holds the sky up / From the ground / You're the breath that blows / These cool winds 'round / Trading places with an angel now."_

She breathes in time with Beck, and he sings the chorus again. "_Saw you last night / Dance by the light of the moon / Stars in your eyes / Free from the life that you knew / Saw you last night / Stars in the sky / … smiled in my room."_

And that's it. On-screen Beck turns off the camera with a remote and the screen fades to black.

It's so simple, so haunting, so beautiful and perfect and awful and heart-wrenching all at the same time, so horribly wonderful, that Tori doesn't realize she's crying until Cat sits down next to her and wraps her arms around her.

And together they rock, red-velvet and tears, two-as-one, as Tori sobs for things she cannot name, for emotions she cannot place, and for love that seems irreparably broken.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Thanks to all my readers and reviewers! Enjoy!

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><p>When it's dark Jade lays in her bed, listening. Across the hall the psych tech is doing bed checks. On the far side of the room Jade's roommate is snuffling and snoring in her bed. The light's on in the hallway, but it always is.<p>

The psych tech sticks her head into the room, sees that Jade and her roommate are in their beds, marks something on their clipboard, and moves on.

Jade turns onto her side and looks out the window. The windows here are double-paned, with scrolling chicken wire between the two panes. Moonlight comes through them in an odd, muted way, leaving funny shadows on the floor. It doesn't look like it should, Jade thinks, but then again, most things look different in here.

She carefully pulls up her scratchy knitted blanket and gently touches the white bandages on her wrists. Even though she was there – painfully, _totally_ there – when she created the wounds that would later lead to four rows of stitches and the white bandages themselves, she somehow feels detached from them totally. When she looks at them, she feels like they belong to somebody else. Somebody who feels far too deeply and far too much.

They even feel strange. She runs her fingers over the bandages on her right wrist. They feel rough and odd under her fingertips. Alien and strange and far too tight.

She pulls at the edge of the bandage, loosening the medical tape. All at once the white strip of bandage peels back, like a mummy's wrappings in one of those late-night B-grade horror films. In the odd-shaped moonlight it looks pathetic, like a white flag being waved in the midst of a volley of flying bombs.

Jade's hypnotized now. Slowly, carefully, with the sort of precision and attention she hasn't shown anything for a week or more, she unwinds the bandages. Across the room her roommate snorts and groans and rolls over, but Jade is focused, completely obsessed with what's beneath the bandages.

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><p>"Cat," Tori whispers. "Cat, are you asleep?"<p>

"No," Cat whispers back. "Well, maybe. Are you awake?"

"I think so," Tori replies. "I can't tell, though."

"Maybe we shouldn't have drunk all those Peppy Colas," Cat whispers. "I think I had six."

"Cat, that's a lot of cola."

"I know. But I just couldn't stop. Things just kept getting funnier, and tastier."

Tori sits up in bed and opens the curtains. A shaft of moonlight falls through the window, landing just inches from Cat's curled form on the carpet. The redhead is tightly coiled into a pastel green sleeping bag, surrounded by six empty Peppy Cola bottles.

"Tori?"

"Yeah, Cat?"

"Is Jade seeing the same moon where she is?"

"I think so," Tori says. Were it an ordinary night, one that hadn't contained four Peppy Colas and several Fat Cakes, she would know for sure that it's the same moon. They are, after all, in the same state still, separated only by thirty-six miles of freeway and a series of locked doors and elevator rides. "Yeah, it's the same moon."

"Good," Cat says.

For a moment there's silence. Then Cat rolls over. "And how about Beck? Is Beck seeing the same moon?"

"Yeah," Tori says.

"And Robbie and Rex?"

"The same moon."

"And Andre?"

"Well, Andre's at that conference in New York with Sikowitz, so he saw the same moon, but it was a while ago."

"That makes me sad," Cat says, and she truly sounds unhappy.

"It's like he sent the moon to us," Tori suggests, and she lets go of the curtain.

Cat yawns. "Is there more Peppy Cola?"

"No, we drank it all."

"Okay," Cat says, a bit sleepily, and lets out a soft sigh.

Tori closes her eyes for a moment.

Then Cat sits bolt upright, and grabs onto Tori's blanket. "Tori," she says, sounding a bit panicked, "promise me that if I'm ever in a place like that, you won't leave me there alone."

Tori rolls over and flicks on the bedside lamp. Cat's pale face jumps into view suddenly, her red hair flaming in contrast in the small pool of light.

"Cat, you won't ever be in the place where Jade is," Tori says.

"You don't know that," Cat says, scared.

"I promise," Tori says.

"No, just promise me that you won't leave me alone," Cat begs.

"Okay," Tori says, eager to placate her friend. "If you ever go to that place where Jade is, we won't leave you alone."

Cat nods, her eyes distant. "You're a good friend, Tori."

"You're a good friend too, Cat," Tori says. "Do you want to sleep up here with me?"

"No," Cat says. "No, I'm fine, now that I know I'm not alone."

"You're not alone," Tori says.

"Okay," Cat says. "You can turn off the light now."

And with that, she rolls herself into the sleeping bag and goes to sleep.

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><p>It's only when Jade sees the stitches that she realizes what she's done. Two piles of white gauze surround her in her skinny twin bed, and yet it's only when the stitches come into view that she stops, shaken.<p>

The stitches themselves are unremarkable, small and neatly done, the work of some deft hand in the emergency room. They are similar to the ones Jade got as a child after she fell down a flight of stairs and cut her knee open. No more emotional content, just loops and whorls of medical thread, tugged and tied in two straight lines on each wrist.

But it isn't enough just to look at them. Now that she's exposed them, she wants more.

Even though she _knows_ it's wrong, just like she _knew_ it was wrong to take that razor blade out of the bathroom cupboard at her house all those days ago and she _knew_ it was wrong to drag it across her arms with the compounded rage and frustration of all her fights with Beck, she pulls at the first stitch.

It comes free with a little _pop_.

Jade had expected to feel freedom. To feel something, anything. Instead she's merely left with a small piece of thread, pinched between her two fingers. No feeling, no emotional context.

And if that one didn't hurt…

She pulls another one. Again, a little _pop_ and then nothing.

By stitch number five or six – she's not really counting, it's late and numbers escape her – she realizes she's bleeding. But it's not a lot, not as much as there was. In fact, it hardly matters. She wipes it on the scratchy blanket and continues.

Eight, ten, eleven. Fourteen, sixteen, twenty. And then they're all gone.

Her head is pounding. The room is spinning. The little pieces of thread are lined up neatly on her bed. And yet she still feels nothing.

The moon shines through the chicken wire windows and Jade holds her wrist tightly, wondering how on earth she ended up in such an emotional void.

She wouldn't have been surprised if the bandages fell away to reveal nothing, simply air, like she was invisible, because it's how she feels. Invisible. Insubstantial.

And now cold. And tired.

Jade looks up at the moon and holds her breath a little, waiting to feel something.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I should be in bed, but for some reason I got all excited and wrote you this. Just a short little dialogue-heavy scene, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same.

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><p>"I can't drink Peppy Cola anymore," Cat says to Tori as they stand in the hall outside Sikowitz's classroom. "I got sick and it was all fizzy."<p>

Andre comes up, holding a cup of coffee. "Why's everybody standing in the hallway?"

"Sikowitz locked himself in there," Robbie replies, peeking through the tiny window cut into the door. "He's either watching a movie or doing Zumba. I can't tell."

"Why do we even bother?" Andre huffs.

"I'm sorry you got fizzy sick," Tori says to Cat.

"It was kinda fun," Cat says. "Except that it wasn't."

Beck comes striding up, a piece of paper clenched in his hand. "Do you know about this?" he demands of the group in general.

"Movable printed type?" Robbie asks.

"White paper?" Cat asks.

"It's an email from Jade's doctor," Beck says, ignoring Cat and Robbie in one fell swoop. "She wants me to come to a therapy session."

Silence falls in the hallway, except for the strange noises emanating through the glass of Sikowitz's classroom door.

"Are you going to go?" Tori asks.

"You have to go," Cat says softly.

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Beck says under his breath, but he unfolds the crumpled letter and refolds it neatly. "I mean, I just… what would you do?"

"I would go," Tori says honestly.

"Don't take her any Peppy Cola," Cat says.

Beck gives her a strange look, as though he's forgotten just how whimsical and off-beat Cat can be, and then his face relaxes. "I should go," he says. "I should go, shouldn't I?"

"You should," Tori says. "At least hear what she has to say."

"I don't want to hear what she has to say! I want her to _listen!_ That's all I've ever wanted! You think after all this time she'd just _shut up_ and let me talk!" Beck rants.

The door swings open and Sikowitz stands there, wearing an extremely loud pair of striped pants and a baggy crocheted vest. "Get in here," he says without much pretense.

He holds the door for Beck, Robbie, Andre, Cat, and Tori, but when the other students attempt to follow them in, Sikowitz slams it. "Private meeting!" he hollers through the little window, and then hurriedly tapes a piece of black paper over the window.

He turns to the group. "Sit down," Sikowitz says, and because they don't have a good reason to do otherwise, they do.

Sikowitz strides to the front of the room and paces back and forth quickly, his hands clasped behind him. For a moment no one speaks. Then Sikowitz says, "I know that you kids think I'm the 'cool' teacher, the one who's always doing crazy stunts and wacky assignments to make you think outside the box, to loosen up, to laugh. But that's not all of me. It's most of me, but I have other sides. For instance, did any of you know that I'm a dedicated Civil War re-enactor?"

He looks out at the group. No one moves. "And I play in an accordion band," Sikowitz goes on. "And… well, we could sit here all day and I could tell you all about my life, but as a teacher that's not my job. My job is to enlighten you. And sometimes I do that through crazy stunts and wacky assignments and odd pants and this hairstyle, which hasn't changed since 1984, but now I'm going to share something real, from my life, and you kids are going to listen."

Cat raises her hand timidly. "Did you ever drink too much Peppy Cola?"

"Yes," Sikowitz says.

"It went up my nose," Cat says. "And then it went up my nose again."

Sikowitz gives the redhead a small smile. "I'm sorry, my dear."

"Cat, let the man talk," Andre says.

"When I was seventeen, my sister… my sister attempted suicide," Sikowitz says. "In much the same manner our beloved Jade did. The difference between my sister and Jade, I hope, is that my sister felt things would never change, and after her release from the hospital she entered a downward spiral. The second time she attempted suicide she was… well, they call it successful, but as a family member I can tell you that it's not my definition of _success_."

He sits down on one of the chairs and crosses his legs. "And you can get caught up in all of the things you 'should' have done, but in the end there's only one thing I 'should' have done. I should have listened. If I had listened, maybe she wouldn't have felt so alone, like she only had one out."

Sikowitz points to Beck. "So if that letter is telling you to dress up in a chicken suit, drink a gallon of maple syrup, and perform six traditional Polish folk dances, you will do it with a smile on your face. Do you understand me?"

He stands up, strides forward, puts his hands on Beck's shoulders. "You and I both know, my boy, that in these situations people become obsessed with placing blame on someone. And you and I both know that that's ridiculous. There's nobody to blame for what happened. There's only someone to blame if we mess up the going-forward part."

Beck swallows hard, and Sikowitz releases his shoulders. "You are all good friends to Jade," the teacher says. "Some of you have had to prove your friendship a bit more strongly in these past few weeks, and some of you are going to be tested as we all go forward. What's important is that we _all_ go forward. You dig?"

Tori looks over at Cat. Cat's biting down on her lip and her eyes are shining with tears. Robbie is holding Rex tighter than she's ever seen him cuddle the puppet before. Andre has his hands on his knees. Beck stares out the window.

"I said – _you dig?"_ Sikowitz repeats.

"We dig," Tori says quietly.

"I dig," Cat agrees softly.

"The diggiest," Robbie says.

"Digging," Andre says.

Sikowitz looks at the last member of the group. "Beck?"

"Why'd you tell us all this?" Beck asks, instead of affirming his dig status. "You could have just told me to go, and that would have…"

"It wouldn't have done diddly squat, boy," Sikowitz says, "and you know it."

He cracks his knuckles. "Just make me proud, all right?"

"Dig it," Beck says, and that's that.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** The song I use in this chapter is called "Téir Abhaile Riú" and it's from the new Celtic Woman album, "Believe." I love it - I've had it on repeat all day! Anyway, enjoy this chapter, and remember - reviews are love!

* * *

><p>It's ridiculous, but as the psychiatrist yells at her and the too-silent resident with the big glasses stitches up her wrists, Jade hears folk music. It fills up the room and takes away the noise of the pinchy-faced psychiatrist, it takes away the stab and pull of the needle and the tug of the thread through her skin. It even takes away the tears streaming from her eyes.<p>

It's a song she heard nearly constantly on repeat for weeks on end, when her Intermediate Movement class worked on their semester project – a traditional Irish hard-shoe dance. She loved it then but she loves it more now, simply because it's blocking out everything keeping her tethered to the real world.

_Look how the light of the town_

_The lights of the town are shining now_

Tears stream down her face as she lies paralyzed on the ugly brown examination table. The serious-faced resident and his ugly glasses bend carefully over his work. And the psychiatrist is _still_ talking, though her words have ceased to make sense.

_Tonight I'll be dancing around_

_I'm off on the way to Galway now_

"Jade, I'm very upset that you would choose to break your commitment to the Program this way. I thought we were making progress in our therapy sessions, both individual and with the group. I have no choice but to move you back to Zero-Level and remove your privileges."

_Look how she's off on the town_

_She's off on a search for sailors though_

"And I need to ask you to sign another contract against self-harm while you're still in the Program."

_There's fine fellas here to be found_

_She's never been one to stay at home_

"The removal of your privileges means that you will not be able to have visitors until you move up to One-Level."

At last _that_ pierces Jade's shell. Her heart contracts painfully at the thought of not being able to see Cat for endless days. Of not being able to even converse with Vega. And of their pain, stuck down in the waiting room hell of the first floor, waiting for an opportunity they won't know is closed to them.

She starts crying harder.

The resident purses his lips and snips the last stitch, then moves away from the examination table. "I'll get you something for the pain," he murmurs, "and something to wrap your wrists."

"Jade, can you tell me why you're upset?" the psychiatrist asks.

_Home you'll go and it's there you'll stay_

_And you've work to do in the morning_

_Give up your dream of going away_

It must mean something, that she hurts so badly to think of days without Cat and… and Tori. It must mean she _can_ feel something. And that's confusing, too.

"Jade?" the psychiatrist prompts.

"Cat," Jade manages to spit, tears streaming down her face. She shoves herself into a sitting position and brings her sleeve up to wipe her tears away.

"You're upset about your cat?"

"She's not mine," Jade sobs. _Even though I called her a pet once. She just took it in stride._

The song from Intermediate Movement keeps spooling through her head, faster and faster. Cat and Tori were in that class, too – she'll never forget Cat's excited face as the steps got harder and harder. Cat was just a red-velvet blur in the front row, spinning and stepping, her tap shoes clacking on the floor in time with the giggles spilling from the redhead's mouth.

_Come now and follow me down_

_Down to the lights of Galway where_

"Tell me about your cat," the psychiatrist says.

"She's not _mine_," Jade repeats, and it's true. Cat's never been hers, never, as long as they've been friends. Cat's always known who she was. Cat's always been a sweetheart, but a sweetheart with a soul of steel. Somebody who's going to save you, always, even if the path to your salvation took her through an ice-skating party, a marching band championship, or a nursing home's dominoes tournament. Cat would come through sleet or hail or rain or tornado or hurricane or tsunami or alien attack. And she'd have a smile on her face, damn it.

"You're upset about a cat that's not yours," the psychiatrist repeats, sounding a little doubtful.

The resident reappears and he hands Jade two pills and a small cup of water. "It's a half a dose of Percocet," he says quietly to the psychiatrist, and then he moves to wrap Jade's wrists with fresh white bandages.

The psychiatrist makes a note on her clipboard.

Jade cries in silence for as long as it takes the resident to re-bandage her wrists.

_Stay here and never you mind_

_The lights of the town are blinding you_

* * *

><p>Beck sits awkwardly on the bench next to Tori, clutching the psychiatrist's email in his hands. It's crumpled and matted now; he hasn't let go of it since he printed it off.<p>

Sikowitz is there, too, sitting quietly on the other bench, reading _101 Scenes for Teens_. And Cat's on the far side of the room, staring blankly at the movie playing on the TV.

"I don't want to be here," Beck whispers to Tori.

"No one wants to be here," Tori replies.

"No, I mean, it's physically _hurting_ me to be here," Beck says. He looks pale and sweaty, like he's forgotten how to breathe. "I just… I can't stop thinking about…"

He wipes a hand over his face and bows his head.

"We're so close," Tori whispers. "Keep up the faith, Beck, we're doing the right thing. _You're_ doing the right thing."

She puts a hand on his knee.

"How do you know?" he murmurs, his head still bent.

"When you see her, you'll know," Tori says, even though she isn't sure how to explain that. But every time she sees Jade, even the confused, scraggly-haired, distant, far-eyed Jade that resides here at the children's hospital, she knows she's made the right decisions. Driving to the hospital every day, waiting in the awful - but appropriately named - waiting room, consoling Cat, even drinking way too much Peppy Cola – these are all the right decisions. Tori can't explain it, but it's just true.

"Sikowitz," Cat says abruptly, "what was your sister's name?"

Sikowitz puts his finger into _101 Scenes for Teens_, and he looks over at the redhead. Cat's eyes are still on the TV, her body physically faced away from the rest of the group. But the teacher answers as though Cat was an active participant in the conversation. "Marina," he says.

"For Marina," Cat says, and then says no more.

"For Marina," Tori whispers, and squeezes Beck's hand tightly.

"No," Beck says. "For Jade."

* * *

><p><em>Stay a while and we'll dance together now<em>

_As the light is falling_

"Jade," the psychiatrist says, "someone is here for your therapy session today."

_I thought I couldn't have visitors_, Jade thinks but does not say.

The psychiatrist opens the door. "Come in," she says.

And Jade's heart stops.

Of course, it restarts a moment later, jolting her from her emotionally-vacant complacency.

"I forgot about your hair," she says without thinking. Her voice sounds far too loud and her throat hurts.

In the doorway Beck sheepishly pats at his hair, trying to get it out of his eyes.

"I forgot about that mole by your ear," he says softly.

The psychiatrist closes the door. "Please, have a seat," she says. "I'm Dr. Shrude."

Jade can't remember if she ever knew the psychiatrist's name, or if it was just one of the many things she's chosen to ignore. Beck takes it in stride; he shakes the doctor's hand and then sits on the other end of the couch, as far away from Jade as possible.

_I want him to hold me_, Jade thinks, and her chest and wrists hurt.

Dr. Shrude takes her seat and crosses her legs and takes out her legal pad and uncaps her pen. Then she looks expectantly at the couple on the couch. "Beck, would you like to tell Jade why you're here?"

Beck looks embarrassed, and then he seems to regroup. He mutters a two-word something, then takes a deep breath and passes Jade a crumpled piece of paper.

She reaches out for it and his eyes find her wrists and she pulls back immediately, the paper forgotten.

"Your doctor asked me to come," Beck says, his face going red as he tries to stuff the paper into his pocket.

"But why did you come?" Dr. Shrude prods.

Beck swallows hard. He looks like he's going to pass out.

Jade pulls her sleeves down over her wrists and looks at the place on the ceiling where two of the walls meet.

"I want to talk about… I want to talk about what happened," he says. "What I said."

"You didn't want to talk about it then," Jade snaps. Hearing her familiar tone feels strange to her, as though she's finding her toes pinched inside shoes two sizes two big.

Beck repeats whatever his two-word mantra is, and swallows. "I think we need to talk."

"That's not what you said then."

"I was a different person then."

"Really? Because I was the same person."

"That's not what I meant."

"You're not very good at this," Jade parries. The sarcastic comments fly from her lips as though she'd planned them, but they hurt as they hit air. The second she says them she wishes they were back inside her mouth. Any more sword-like words and she'll have sliced Beck into little pieces.

He takes it all in stride, though his face is still red. Once more he repeats his mantra, and then he says, "I buy you a soda, every day."

She doesn't know what to make of this.

"At lunch? I buy two sodas, even though I only drink one. And I check my phone every five minutes, because I keep expecting you to text me. And I can't get off your Slap page, because I keep thinking there's going to be an update, or a picture of you and Cat at that store with all the crazy hats."

"Cat loves that store," Jade says, and her throat hurts even worse.

"I keep waiting for you outside Ms. Biermann's calculus class, because I keep thinking we're going to walk to Sikowitz's together. I even go to the Black Box when school's over, because that's where you and Cat used to practice your dance for Intermediate Movement."

_Off with a spring in my step_

_The sailors are searching Galway for_

"All that proves is you're a creature of habit," Jade says.

"I don't think you're listening," Dr. Shrude interrupts. "Jade, Beck has grown to feel that you're an important piece of his life. Of his routine."

"And if I was gone forever, he'd find a new routine," Jade says. Those words hurt the most.

"No, I wouldn't," Beck argues.

"You'd find somebody else to give that soda to," she goes on, even though saying this to her boyfriend feels like she's swallowing glass. "You'd start texting somebody else. You'd find a new way to walk to Sikowitz's class."

"Maybe I would," Beck replies, and her heart contracts in her chest.

_A young lady such as myself_

_For reels and jigs and maybe more_

"But I don't _want_ to," he says.

For a moment the silence hangs in the air, and Dr. Shrude shifts in her seat.

"Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you told me I was a heartless bitch," Jade says, and she lets the pain in her wrists and the song in her head take her somewhere, anywhere, _anywhere_ else.

_The sailors they come and they go_

_But listen to what's reminding you_


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: Thanks to all my awesome readers and reviewers. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>She's curled up on the couch in the day room, having another conversation with Lily. It's as slow as ever, but Jade finds that she's actually focused on what the other girl is typing. Lily is such an active part of a conversation; Jade thinks it's because she has to use her whole body.<p>

"Jade?"

Jade looks up, surprised by a non-computerized vocal tone. A stylishly-dressed young woman with coffee-colored skin stands before her, holding some files. "Are you Jade?" she asks.

Jade pushes herself upright. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On what you're going to tell me to do. Or think about myself. Or take."

The woman smiles. Her teeth are perfect and white. "Relax," she says, holding up her hands in a peace-making gesture. "I'd just like to talk."

"They all just want to talk," Jade murmurs to Lily. The dark-haired girl gives her a spastic smile and jerks forward in her wheelchair as Jade gets up.

The young woman leads Jade out of the day room. In the lobby she sticks out her hand, waiting for Jade to reciprocate. "It's nice to meet you, Jade. I'm Stella Anthony."

Jade shakes her hand, still looking at her a little warily.

"I work with Dr. Shrude sometimes," Stella goes on.

"On her difficult cases?" Jade asks.

Stella smiles again. Jade finds it a little unnerving. "No, not necessarily her difficult cases. Usually I help out when Dr. Shrude feels that some more individualized consultation might help a patient in their recovery."

"So, you're a shrink," Jade says.

"Nope," Stella says. "I'm not even a doctor. I'm a hypnotherapist."

"Oh, man, are you serious?" Jade asks. "What, are you going to regress me to my past life and help me figure out how being decapitated in the French Revolution led to my eventual present-life trauma?"

Stella looks a little amused. "Well, as soon as I figure out how to do that, I'll give it a shot. I think you might have been watching too many late night infomercials. Hypnotherapy is really just a way of allowing a patient to relax deeply. Once they feel relaxed and at ease, they can often feel more like discussing things that are too difficult for them to talk about in an 'awake' state."

"So Dr. Shrude thinks I'm not good about talking?" Jade asks.

"She mentioned something about a cat…" Stella says, looking down at her files.

"It's not a cat," Jade says, and then feels ridiculous. She shouldn't have to explain herself to someone, especially a non-doctor, especially one whose "field" is actually more of a vaudeville act.

"Look, no one is going to make you do anything you're not comfortable with," Stella says. "But Dr. Shrude is looking for opportunities for you to express yourself, and so far she's not seeing a lot of that in individual or group therapy."

"Well, pardon me for not being Patient of the Month," Jade says, sarcasm in full flush. "I'm sorry if my issues are a little deeper than not being able to spend all of Daddy's money."

"See, that's the kind of spunk I admire in someone," Stella says.

_What is it going to take to insult her?_ Jade wonders.

"Somebody who's very confident in their feelings, but maybe just a little hesitant to express them," Stella goes on. "And really, what do you have to lose?"

Jade attempts to stare her down.

Stella shrugs. "And you get to miss group therapy this morning."

Jade holds out a second longer than is necessary before accepting. "Fine."

* * *

><p>"Beck, would you like a coffee?" Sikowitz asks, sitting down at Beck's table in the Asphalt Café. For some reason, the wild-haired teacher is holding two drink cups.<p>

"Um, sure," Beck says, looking up from his history notes.

"I understand your session with Jade didn't go so well," Sikowitz says, passing one of the coffees to his student. "I hope it won't dissuade you from giving it another go."

"Yeah, well, she's on Level Zero now," Beck says. "So no more visitors. And I don't know if her psychiatrist will invite me back. Our performance was a little less than stellar. Think more like… a revival of Sweeney Todd, except bloodier."

"How graphic," Sikowitz says, curling a lip as he takes the lid off his coffee.

"She just doesn't want to play fair," Beck says.

Sikowitz snorts into his brew. "Has Jade ever played fair, young man?"

"No," Beck sighs, "but usually she's a little more accommodating than this."

Sikowitz takes a long drink of coffee, and then sets his cup on the table. "I have some things for you," he says after a pause. He reaches into the pocket of his voluminous pants and passes two photographs across the table to Beck.

Beck picks them up. The first is black-and-white, taken years ago, of a beaming Sikowitz with his arm around a pretty girl, also beaming. They're under some sort of tree with wide, spreading branches. "She had your eyes," he says softly.

"They're our mother's," Sikowitz says.

The other picture is of Beck and Jade, onstage during "The People's Republic of Funk," an extremely low-budget dance show put on by Sikowitz and choreographed by Sinjin. They're wearing ridiculous, spangled costumes but looking into each other's eyes and smiling as though a secret is flashing silently between them.

"You two brought down the house," Sikowitz observes.

"I said I was sorry about that," Beck says, looking up. "But my tap shoe flew into the backdrop and…"

"Oh, no, not the set malfunction," Sikowitz interrupts, waving his hand. "You were the best dancers in that show."

Beck respectfully declines to point out that the other dancers were the members of Sinjin's special effects crew, and Robbie. "We had a good time," he says.

"That's the point, my lad," Sikowitz says. "You need to focus on the good times to get you through the hard times. And this is a shit-wad of a hard time, forgive my not-so-French, but if you can find that one spark that reminds you what you love about Jade… what you'd lose forever if she was no longer with us… then that's what keeps you going."

The teacher leans forward and taps the photograph of himself and his sister. "I would give anything for just one more day with her, so I could tell her I was sorry that we didn't try hard enough to save her. You _have_ one more day. Hopefully more, but just start with one."

The bell rings and Sikowitz stands up. Beck tries to hand back the picture of Marina and Sikowitz. "No, that's yours," Sikowitz says. "For Jade." He raises his coffee in a little salute.

"For Jade," Beck repeats, a little distractedly. "For Jade."

* * *

><p>"All right, Jade, now that you're relaxed, I'm going to count backward from ten," Stella says.<p>

Jade feels ridiculous, propped up on a beige chaise lounge in Stella's darkened office. The probe on her big toe is broadcasting her heart rate to the room; Stella had tactfully declined to put it on her finger after seeing Jade's wrists. The beeping is slow and gentle. Jade can't remember the last time she felt so relaxed, honestly. Maybe there's something to this vaudeville act.

"And I just want you to just relax, but I'd also like you to focus on the things you've been talking about with Dr. Shrude. Personal relationships, the urge to self-harm, really anything. When I reach _one_, you will be fully relaxed and ready to talk with me."

Jade sighs and closes her eyes.

"Ten."

_Fighting. With Beck. Loudly. In class. Out of class. In the janitor's closet. Cat fainting. Possible concussion? Did I ever ask her how she was?_

"Nine."

_No, because I'm a self-centered bitch. Heartless bitch. Some form of bitch. Because I don't listen. Because I get jealous. Because I want to know he's committed to our relationship. What relationship? Yeah._

"Eight."

_Going home. Making up my mind. He wasn't going to tell me what to do anymore. I'm not his. I don't belong to him._

"Seven."

_I'll show him._

"Six."

_He doesn't need me. He'd be happier without me. They'd all be happier without me. Nobody would be fighting. Maybe Tori would be Cat's best friend. Cat needs somebody strong to look up to. Somebody who cares when she hits her head on the floor._

"Five."

_So that's it. That's it._

"Four."

_What's that stupid Sheryl Crow song? "The First Cut is the Deepest"? For some reason I don't think she was talking about suicide. One cut. Two. Seven. A lot. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts._

"Three."

_I'm doing this for him. To show him. He'll be sorry. He'll be sorry when they find me._

"Two."

_Hurts. Wait. Wait. Toolatetosayiwaswrong…_

"One." Stella looks over at the heart rate monitor, then back to her patient. Jade sits still on the chaise, her eyes closed, breathing deeply. "When you're ready, Jade, open your eyes."

And Jade, as relaxed as she's ever been, opens her eyes, sucks in a breath, and screams.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

><p>"<em>I told you, she's in my study group!"<em>

"_Oh, yeah?"_

"_Yeah!"_

"_I don't think you can call it a 'group' if there's just two of you!"_

"_I told you, Benny got held up at work, and Sasha was visiting her grandma!"_

"_Benny works at a car wash! Was there some sort of car-washing emergency? Perhaps a soap overflow? A vacuum that turned out to be a portal to King Arthur's Court?"_

_"Jade, he got hit by a Subaru!"_

_She slammed her locker, but not loud enough. She could have been one of those superheroes in a metal suit, capable of punching through a wall, and it still wouldn't have been enough._

"_Why don't you just say what you're really afraid of?" he demanded. "You're afraid that someone is going to steal your boyfriend!"_

_"Wouldn't you be? If you found your hot boyfriend __alone__ at a café with a girl?"_

"_We were researching the Holocaust!"_

"_My jealousy bothers you," she said, turning to face him, hands on hips._

"_Everything__ about this bothers me," he said._

"_Well, if I bother you so much, why don't you just leave? Head back to your fancy café and that slut!"_

"_Jade, Serena Sarris is not a slut," he said._

"_And yet she hangs out with other girl's boyfriends. What does one call that, pray tell, if not a slut?"_

"_Do you remember the part where we were researching the Holocaust? What about Nazis and storm troopers is supposed to be the pipeline to sexy time? No one thinks that's hot!"_

"_There's got to be someone on the Internet who does."_

"_Jade, there's a billion people on the Internet who think those cat pictures are cute! There's somebody for everything!"_

"_Or for every__one__!"_

"_What is your point?"_

"_You wanted to spend time with another girl instead of me."_

"_To __research the Holocaust__!"_

_She shook her head. "I don't want to talk about this."_

"_Oh, great. That'll make things better. Let's just stuff this under the rug and we'll never talk about it again."_

"_You want to talk about it?"_

"_No, I want you to stop being so jealous! You're such a heartless bitch!"_

_She stared at him for a moment. Rage was boiling in her veins, which once upon a time she might have considered to be hyperbolic drivel, but which now she understood painfully. She felt hot, heat radiating from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair._

_And he just stood there calmly, waiting for her to say something back, spitting more anger so he could deal with it in his cool-guy way._

_She wasn't going to let him have that satisfaction._

_Instead of speaking, she simply turned and walked away. Stomped, really._

_Stomped all the way home. Cars went by on the street, honking at her when she wove into traffic, drivers cussing her out from behind their steering wheels. But their words were slippery, instead of the barbs they intended._

_Not like Beck's words._

_She was in a cocoon now, wire and cotton and glass wrapped around her body to keep her safe. Safe from words, safe from Beck, safe from Holocaust research, safe from girls who studied at a café, safe from Subarus and car washes and fights and everything. Safe._

_She was safe all the way home, all the way up the stairs, all the way into her bedroom. Safe as she took off her boots, safe as she put her backpack on the bed. Safe as she opened the drawer where she kept all her favorite scissors and knives and blades._

_She was so safe, cradled so gently in that cocoon of invisible wire and softness, inside a world yet looking out. Safe as she thought no more of Beck, no more of Cat, no more of school or birthdays or Sikowitz or college, safe as she thought of nothing but ending everything that had ever caused her pain. No more barbed words, just safety. No more arguments, just safety. No more jealousy, just safety. No longer a heartless bitch, just somebody safe._

_And in her head she was safe right up until her very last conscious thought._

_Safe with a blade in her hands and blood on her jeans and her whole life slipping away, safe, safe, safe the whole time._

_It was when she woke up that she wasn't safe._

* * *

><p>Her chest hurts, and someone is screaming.<p>

"Jade," Stella says. "Jade."

She sucks in another breath and realizes it's her, it's her doing the screaming. Her chest hurts like she's been running for hours, and her throat feels raw. The room is spinning around her, all of Stella's obviously carefully-chosen furniture and furnishings, such lovely vases and flower prints and –

"Jade."

And if she's going to die, going to die for real now, it's going to be in this lovely room. Do people die from screaming? It seems like it could be dangerous. No air getting to the brain…

And she takes in another breath, and with that she feels something settle in the pit of her stomach. The flower prints on the wall are no longer looking at her like evil _Fantasia_ escapees, the vases no longer going to jump up and drown her.

"Jade. I want you to know that I'm here for you, whenever you come back."

Stella's voice is way too calm. Did they teach her that at her fancy hypnotherapy school?

"I understand that you must have been through some terrible things, and I apologize if anything we're doing here has triggered some poor memories."

_Poor memories_. It sounds like something someone's grandmother says.

"Jade, do you feel safe right now?"

_No, I'm screaming because everything is going exactly the way I want._

And then one of the screams turns into a hiccup, the hiccup into a word. "Beck."

"Back? You're back with us?"

Another hiccup-word. "Beck."

Stella looks down at her clipboard. "You're talking about Beck. Your boyfriend who came to your session with Dr. Shrude."

"He still…" – she hiccups – "… he still cares."

She reaches up for her necklace, the one they took off her as she was brought up to the psych ward. It still feels like it's there. Is that part of the hypnosis?

"Well, of course he still cares," Stella says. "I'm going to count backwards from five, and when I say 'one,' you will feel more relaxed. Five…"

_How could he still care for me after all of this?_

"… four…"

_He came all the way up here._

"… three…"

_Even though he was the reason I did this._

"… two…"

_I'm sick of thinking that everything he does is some sort of puzzle._

"… one."

_So he really __does__ care._

"Jade, what are you thinking about?" Stella asks.

"That sometimes Holocaust research is just… Holocaust research."

And it doesn't bother her that Stella has no way of understanding what she means. With her fingers pressing the spot on her neck where the charm of her necklace would lay, it feels like Beck's in the room. It feels like he can hear her admit that she was wrong.

She knows it's not enough, that she'll actually have to talk to him next time. _Really_ talk, not just fling accusations around or try to find the words that will hurt him the most.

She's spent far too much time doing that lately. There are other words.

Better words.

She's going to start with "I'm sorry."


End file.
